


as you say

by littlestrideer



Category: Homestuck
Genre: ?????, Dom/sub, M/M, dubcon, im not sure of anything bye
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-24
Updated: 2013-05-24
Packaged: 2017-12-12 19:43:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/815314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlestrideer/pseuds/littlestrideer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>you don't have much of a choice. it's your fault anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	as you say

**Author's Note:**

> i think i am getting better at the dom/sub thing 
> 
> completely unrelated to my other piece but yeah
> 
> here is my second go at this thing which is about a thousand words shorter than expected :)))))))))))))

You would never admit he intimidates you. 

Dirk is half your age and yet a few inches short of your height. You may older, but he will always remind you that he is the wiser. Though as smart as he may be, he still gives you the power to end everything at any second. And every time you consider doing so, he makes you remember why you can’t.

Watching television is just habit for you, just as drinking and smoking used to be. You do it without thinking, subconsciously finding your way to the couch and flipping through the channels for a good show. Not that you ever care to watch them, not when he comes down and sits beside you to watch you. It’s been a long time since you’ve even considered getting a carton of smokes, but your hand always twitches for one when he’s in your presence.

He knows every button to press to rile you up. He knows what turns you on and what turns you off. He knows how to make you look like an idiot and still have you apologize to him. You know he loves holding all that over your head, while you know as much about him as a reporter on the street would. His body moves away from yours, and you instantly tense.

You know what he wants you to say, but you won’t say it. You are a grown ass man and you can handle sitting next to your brother slash boyfriend, without being able to touch him until you give in and ask to. You hate how much control he has over you and you hate that you can only hold out for so long.

Dirk stands up and you grab his wrist and he whips his head around so quickly it startles you, his eyes hidden but you can feel the look of utter disgust directed towards you, looking down at your hand like you’ve burned him just by touching him. “Let go.”

You do it without hesitation. “Where are you—”

“What?”

You blink before realizing your mistake. “I’m sorry.”

This time he blinks, and then turns away. “’m going to the bathroom.” He informs you, walking off as he does so. Whenever he leaves you don’t know what to do with yourself, because you’re always afraid of what will happen when he gets back.

Out of lack for anything better to do, you pull your phone out, answering a few messages. Of course there’s a bunch from Rose, when is she not trying to have a say in your personal life. John updates you on his relationship status for the umpteenth time and how great his new job is, not that you even remember what it was. Jade is having the time of her life exploring with her grandson, the one Dirk used to like, the one that broke his heart, the one he used to never shut up about until you did something about it and in a chain reaction, caused your own fate.

By the time he gets back you start to feel sick. This time when he sits it’s on the other side of the couch and you know he’s not even looking at the television, but cutting his eyes at you. You can’t remember a time when his eyes didn’t have that look in them, the look where you can tell a person has been through so much and that they only expect to go through more. You don’t remember asking him if you could come closer, but he nods and you shift your position into where your head rests in his lap.

When his fingers thread through your hair you feel yourself tense again, though only for a moment because he stops so suddenly. You are tempted to look and question him but instead you go back to watching the television, some commercial about some new club opening up. It reminds you that you still haven’t asked him what you meant to ask him days ago, but chickened out on several times. “Can I ask you something?

“Can you?” His tone is mocking. You want to punch him.

“May I ask you something?”

He waits. You begrudgingly add, “Please, sir?”

“Fine.”

You let out a sigh, “There’s this big gala coming up this weekend—”

“As in tomorrow, correct?”

“Yes, but—”

“No.”

You whine, “You didn’t even let me fin—”

“Do you really want to keep pushing this when I already said no?”

You fall silent. His hand falls from your head completely. Maybe you shouldn’t have asked at all.

The two of you stay silent until you hear him yawn. He pushes you off his body and stands up again with a small stretch. “Come on.”

A part of you wants to tell him you aren’t tired, but the other part of you tell you that would go as well as the last thing you said, if not worse. You stand up and follow him up the stairs, the television still playing dimly in the background. Both of you prepared yourselves for bed, and once the lights are out and he kisses the top of your head, once you hear him snoring lightly, that’s when you allow yourself to think about the guilt eating away at you.

There’s no one to blame but yourself. You were the one who reacted without thinking, who grabbed hold of his lips instead of his forehead that night, that night he would’ve stayed up crying if you hadn’t come in there to tell him to shut up, instead spending the night in the same bed with him and waking up with little no recollection of what you had done until you looked over at him. He was frail then, still fragile now, and you can remember when his eyes opened up and he gave you that small smile that told you that you had made a mistake. An entire year later, and you are still paying the price.

That was not what started it, though it got the ball rolling. At first you had avoided him, pretended like it had never happened, and when you did have to be around him you could not even hold eye contact with the boy, though he himself never gave up with you. Though you can remember the next time he’d kissed you, the night you managed to almost single handedly ruin your entire career with a dumb stunt out of your own stupidity, and you’d let him get a taste of that control in it, and that’s when you think it started.

There was nothing verbal laid out in the start, though you both adjusted. You came in earlier, and he rewarded you, and you both started to watch what the other liked, didn’t like. Once or twice you sat down and talked over a few aspects of things, but it wasn’t like there was anything you would say no to. There was never a consensual, “Will you be my bitch?” but there was a silent agreement on there being no one else for the other to be romantic with, if that’s even the term for it. You don’t know what the two of you have, you never really did, but you can’t imagine it stopping, not even if he decides to go off to college.

Though the thought of college makes your stomach churn, because if he doesn’t go it’ll be another thing to blame yourself for. Dirk was one of the brightest kids you knew (not that you hung out with teenagers on a regular basis, but that’s beside the point) and it would be awful to be the reason why he never left home. Sure, it wasn’t like he left home much beside the occasional meet up with a friend, but you find even that to be your fault. You ruined him and you ruined yourself and there’s no one to blame you.

A shift in the bed surprises you, and you try to slow your breathing when you realize the snoring has stopped. “Why are you awake?”

You shrug and he turns you over so you have to look at him. “I asked a question, you know.”

“I was thinkin’.”

“About?”

“S’not important.”

“Excuse me?” He has that look in his eye. You feel your skin starting to burn.

“I, uh, was thinkin’ about us.”

That’s all you have to say. This isn’t the first time you’ve stayed up past when he says and end up mentally torturing yourself, though this is only the second time he’s woken up while you do so. He lets out a sigh and lays back down, pulling the covers up tight on him. You don’t bother tugging any on yourself. “I’m sure I’ve made myself clear on that several times now. All you have to do is stay one word, and it’s over. Now close your eyes and go to sleep, or get out of my bed.”

He doesn’t mean it, but you do as he says anyway. You know you’ll never say that word because you can’t imagine having to see him upset again, not that he’d ever show that side of him to you ever again. He’s too prideful, too arrogant for his own good and you can’t help but love them about him because where you fake it, you know he feels it. Whatever it takes to keep him happy, he knows you’ll do it.

When you peek an eye open, you’re pretty sure you see him smirking.


End file.
